Dishonest or Inspired
by MelaSarai00
Summary: When an ambush separates Jack & Co., their road to a reunion leads them farther into their past & their world. Mick-centric, with secondary Ana-centricism.


PROLOGUE

  


The agreement with Tatania was that they would only function as back-up for the aerial attack, called in only if necessary. Unfortunately, the unit targeted had been more than prepared for an air or ground strike; within the first minutes of battle, its intentions were perfectly discernible: it was serving as a mere decoy. The controlled explosion echoed through the narrow canyon, quickly followed by the rumbling din of the collapsing rocks crushing both abandoned and occupied vehicles. A haze of unbreathable brown dust rose to hover ominously over the wreckage, rendering the chaotic scene unviewable to all but those trapped within the suffocating cloud.

  


"Hello?!" Mick shouted between harsh coughs, his voice growing raspy. "Hey! Willy? Jack?... _Anyone?!_ Oh, man..." 

  


Mick winced his eyes shut to save him from the stinging dust and groped blindly for some physical answer to his pleas. The throb in his left shoulder from the jarring crash that had thrown him out of the CLOD kept his arm's movements stiff and slight. His hesitant steps faltered as he struck his foot against something solid and unexpectedly large; with a surprised cry, he fell onto the ground, landing on some of the smaller debris. As Mick cautiously pushed himself up, his hand sank into a softer object. Whatever he had touched, it started to stir, groaning in a low tone; he jerked his hand up with a sharp gasp. The dust began to settle enough to spare his eyesight, and his stomach soured as he found his hand buried in a thick growth of familiarly unkempt red hair.

  


"Ana?" Mick called out he shook the unconsciously girl by her shoulders. He rolled her over, off of her stomach and shook her a little harder. "C'mon, snake girl, say something!" He carefully lifted Anakonda from the ground, cringing as pangs threatened to overtake his injured shoulder.

  


A brief note of panic struck Mick as he staggered to his feet; it overcame his thoughts while he tried his best to cradle Anakonda's limp form in his aching arms. Vacantly, he glanced at the newly formed mound of toppled rock and twisted metal. _They can't be in there... There's no way. I mean, at least Willy got out, and he'd hear me. This was just too cheap to work! There's no way..._ Mick took a slow, deep breath and turned to find an escape; he found a readied army waiting for him.

  


"Stop!" the unit's commander yelled, his face obscured by the uniform's headgear. Four lower-ranking soldiers circled Mick, with two rushing to pull Anakonda roughly from his arms. The unoccupied two seized Mick's arms, restraining him with a force that was completely oblivious towards his injuries. "You're under arrest by direct orders of King Renard!"

  


*****

  


The fire crackled softly at the center of the campsite, its brilliant orange glow falling against the weary figures of the four strange travelers. It had not been long since their exile, and the strains of the recent past still affected them, plunging this simple meal into an unusually somber mood. Their conversation was sparse and muted as they picked at their food.

  


"Why is it so cool?" the eldest of the camp asked. Her brown eyes stared vacantly, frosted over and long robbed of their sight; her long, thick hair had been blanched into a sickly gray by age and was pulled away from her baffled face.

  


"The sun's set, Mama," the young woman of the party answered. She had the same rough, tawny complexion and a face similar to that of the old woman, but her hair was still a rich, glossy black, and her silver eyes remained clear. A stern, tired expression draped her young face and infected her words. "Wrem started a fire for the night, don't worry."

  


"We'll need to go into town soon," the older of the two men firmly stated. He, too, bore a clear relationship to the old woman. His hair was a shade lighter than the young woman's and was kept in several thick braids; he had eyes in the same brilliant brown as the old woman's, but sight had been spared. "There's only enough food for a day or so, and we're practically out of water."

  


"Great," the young woman sighed. "There's no towns for miles, and they're just gonna arrest us if we so much as look at someone."

  


"We _have_ to go," the older woman argued, her words stubborn and bitter. "I _won't_ give them the satisfaction of our deaths. I'd sooner be arrested than bear that."

  


"Mama, really! We can only keep this up for so long!"

  


"It's okay, sweets," the second young man stated, placing a calming hand on the young woman's shoulder. He looked vastly different from his traveling companions, yet he had adopted their ornately ragged style of dress. His hair was short, a collection of rusty chestnut waves held away from his blue eyes with a time-worn blue headband. The sun had apparently never reached his pale complexion. "I can pass for a kingdom child any day."

  


"You _are_ a kingdom child, and a fugitive one, at that," the young woman replied, her anger melting into a dim anxiety. "I don't want you arrested."

  


"I'll be fine. I'll just change my clothes and hide my rings." The kingdom man sighed to himself. "Guess we'll just use the route along the cliffs."

  


"Sweet, merciful spirits," the old woman muttered, "give us your strength and love for a safe trip. Kindly watch your waywards."

  


"Sweet spirits," each of the others gently echoed, finishing the prayer before returning to their meager meal.

  



End file.
